The Letter War of '95
by Where'n'why
Summary: (COMPLETED December 23, 2015) Elizabeth is frustrated with her neighbour, and decides to write a letter to pour out her grievances. It was supposed to be for therapy. You know write it and throw it away, but Emmet saw it. put it in an envelope and sent it first class. How will Hyacinth reply? Will others get involved? Will it turn violent?
1. Liz's Letter

Dear Hyacinth,

This letter has been in the making for many years. Up until now, it has been cowardice and fear that has stopped me from writing this letter. The time for timidity has passed and the time for action has arrived with great importance and must be heeded. It has been unfairness to you and myself that has kept me from expressing what I must write. This letter is not a long gripe of transient musings or a list of silly complaints. It is a document of cogent theses to improve the quality of life for those you impact. The reasons I am so compelled to write this letter are to right my conscious and to free my soul and the souls of those who are impressed by the same attitudes and dispositions. Allow me for the sake of the edification of my soul and yours to list these attitudes and dispositions.

When considering the relationships between human beings, it is obvious that there may be several difficulties that arise in tending and nurturing it. That has never been disputed and never will be. However, in the very word relationship, there is the word, 'relate'. Through the use of ordinary speech and of even the loftiest schools of thought, the word 'relate' requires there to be a mutual understanding of the value of equality. CANDOUR is the gate to enlightenment. SO, I shall be CANDID. Equality has never seemed to be one of the values we've shared. Allow me to name the ways in which you have fallen short…

You are imperious but command no empire.

Your 'Social Climbing' defeats itself, in that, your yearning to accrue 'better' friends only leads to you alienating the ones (the few) you already have for people who are uninterested and indifferent.

For your husband, who has lost his voice, be quiet and listen.

For the Vicar, whose sermons, you regularly interrupt to correct grammatically with archaic rules, be quiet and listen.

For Emmet Hawksworth, you cannot sing. So stop trying to get yourself cast in his amateur operatic plays and musicals.

For Onslow, your brother-in-law, do not force him to wear any jackets or vests.

* * *

TO relate, again, it is recognised universally that both parties must listen. It is uncertain, that you can listen. Therefore, I ought to have you read, as I am sure you are literate, or at least, you make that appearance. Indeed, you are so wrapped up in the upkeep of appearances that you are indeed creating a generally bad public image of yourself. To those with whom you want to mingle, you appear false and desparate. To those you are trying to exceed on the 'social ladder' you appear condescending, with no intellect to reinforce your attitude.

Your wild gesticulations to keep from making noises are most unpleasant to those who view it.

Your quickness to disassociate with those of a 'Lower Social Standing' makes you only appear imperious and that is most unpleasant to those who view it.

Your emotions are hidden behind a wall of false pretence, whereby it is impossible to ascertain if distress is genuine or of a superficial nature.

Your husband is emotionally drained for lack of love from you.

* * *

The general grievances continue…

Candlelight Suppers are uncomfortable and seem to be a punishment, most cruel and unusual, for a crime that has never been committed.

Being asked to judge a table for its presentation in the middle of the day is cruel and unusual.

Your shrill voice can be heard from the street, causing dogs to bark, cats to scratch, and small children in the next road to cry.

Being forced to walk to your front door is most uncomfortable and unnecessary.

Your Royal Doulton with the hand painted periwinkles is fake, with the stamp 'Made in Malaysia' appearing on the bottom of the saucers. The same set can be bought in town for fifteen pounds.

The postman openly fears your presence and you ignore it.

The milkman openly fears your presence and you ignore it.

The electric man openly fears your presence and you ignore it.

The Vicar and his wife flee your presence.

Emmet Hawksworth fears and loathes you. You punish him further by suggesting that he is physically attracted to you.

Emmet Hawksworth has prison pallor for fear of emerging to find you out of doors.

Emmet Hawksworth has nightmares about you several times a week.

Passers-by dare not walk in front of your house lest you come out and harass them.

People who are associated with you lose other friends.

People who you invite into your home are not allowed to face the window. That denial of sunlight only furthers the purpose to strip joy.

The Chinese take-away has gone out of business, because of your telephone number being off by one digit.

The gardens adjacent to your house suffers because the neighbors fear your out coming from your house

The alcoholism rate in the postal code is nearly double that of the national average.

You are generally dense.

The children of the area dress up as you for Halloween.

It has been said that you harbour ill-will towards humanity.

We, the people of your community, are not interested in your white slim-line telephone.

We are not imterseted in your sister, Violet. Nor are interested in her Mercedes, sauna, room for a pony or her villa in Ibiza.

We are not comfortable with the way you treat your husband in public.

We are not impressed with your wardrobe.

We have heard exceedingly more than we need to about your country property.

The same is true for your cruise on the QEII.

It is wrong to require coerce people into your presence.

You have caused the Vicar to have several crises of faith.

Because of you, not only is the unpleasantness of Death and Taxes imposed, but the certainty of barbeques with you is added.

Rule Britannia is meant to be sung with pride. You turn it into a most noisome collection of moans.

The same is true for all music.

You have never, ever appreciated any other human being around you.

* * *

Because of these stated things, I, the undersigned, do hand-deliver this to you. I do ordain this as my true thought and belief so I may proceed happier and safer. I may also proceed braver and freer that ever before. This was also declared for your growth and understanding. I am sure that you can see some of the effects of your behaviour. You have seen Emmet flee. You have seen the crestfallen look on Richard's face. You know the pain of rejection. This is your time to fix yourself. This is your time to improve, and in the process, climb up the 'social ladder'.

ELIZABETH WARDEN, on this day, Friday, the thirty-first of March, in the Year of Our Lord One thousand nine hundred ninety-five.


	2. The Reply from on High

My dearest neighbour Elizabeth,

I had no clue that you were so amusing. You are so imaginative, too.

But if this letter of invective is a true account of your sentiments, I grieve for you. For now I know, you are imprisoned by your own illusions and sick fantasies. How idyllic a time you must find yourself in. You must feel liberated and free in your clear bashing of class and superior social status. Let me name the ways I see fit for you to improve yourself. I believe that if you bring yourself up to a socially respectable level you may, with much greater facility, be able to blend into the background that I have so generously painted and maintained for you.

This backdrop is so delicate and fragile that any ripple across it, no matter how small may distort and destroy the picture. Madam, it is not I who would stand in ruins, but you. You may have "found your voice", but its weak and feeble cries do nothing, but inspire pity. I pity you, madam, as one pities a child who has not enough money to buy sweets after school. Yes, Elizabeth, this pity is small and shall pass, and you will be left the loser. I shall not feel sorry then. I would rather keep you in the backdrop of my life, for you are like my little dog. When people see you, they know that I'm nearby.

I intend to keep you nearby. You amuse me, and you balance the standards. When I say that I mean… How shall I explain this in a way your mind could understand? I understand that I am close in affect to the Queen. When you are around, you make me seem more attainable to the common people. At the same time, when you are around me you are elevated.

You see I have this burden, this lady's burden. I have achieved so much that I must look down and elevate those who have not reached my status. And that is the case with you. I have extended my hand to feed you the information that you would need to rise. How have you responded? You have bitten the hand that feeds you.

I will be brief in my criticism of you, for I do not wish to exert any more of my valuable time on this nonsense.

You must learn how to be dainty.

You must stop breaking my GENUINE Royal Doultan with the hand-painted periwinkles.

You must stop your voice cracking like a teenage boy.

You must fix your hair.

You must buy better clothes if you want to be associated with someone of my caliber.

You must learn how to apply make up for candlelight suppers. You current makeup makes you look like a lady of the evening.

You must stop preventing your brother from enjoying my presence.

You must stop your sluttish manner when in the presence of my husband.

You must learn how to pick a hat.

You must learn how to pronounce your words clearly. SAY THIS: How now brown cow?

You must comprehend the fact that you have trouble making friends through no fault of my own.

You must realize that a teacup is a fragile thing.

You must learn that when you are driving a car with a passenger, you may not be reckless.

I am your friend only by the unmerited gift of the Lord's all-encompassing Grace.

SAY THIS ALOUD, "I am a lady and I must carry myself as a lady." Now write that sentence fifty times.

Elizabeth you are approaching the end of your life with great and quickening speed, and as such you must begin to consider your legacy. Do you really want to be remembered for the shortcomings I have so graciously listed for you? I want you to, earnestly, honestly, to bring yourself up to a position that befits any one of my friends or at least neighbours.

Your daughter is to inherit the meager possessions you are leaving for her. You were her leader. I know that this may not be acceptable in all social circles, but your face. How can that face be the face of a leader? Your posture is hunched. Your face droops. They have surgeons who can fix these things now. Look in the phonebook, I assure you someone has enough expertise for a case of your severity.

BREAK

Let me address the 'grievances'.

I am not imperious.

I am not a "Social Climber' for I have attained a position, through my merit and works, that have elevated me above you.

I must make sure that the Vicar respects the language, for in the beginning was the Word and the Word was with God, and the Word was God. Being grammatical shows respect for the Word, Jesus.

Emmet is so infatuated with my charms that my lovely voice intoxicates him.

Onslow must wear a vest to ensure that he does not scare any decent person. You should be scared of that, but you are not. How decent are you really?

Candlelight suppers are the highlight of this community's calendar.

My voice is pleasant to everyone including your brother.

A lady should always walk in from the front door. Only a mistress comes and goes through the back.

The rest of the 'faults' you find with me are preposterous.

Hyacinth Bucket, your neighbour.


	3. The Away Place

"Emmet can you come here a minute?" Elizabeth's voice was straining to hide its mixture of emotions. It probably concealed confusion and anger, but there's no knowing for certain.

Emmet emerged from the dining room carrying the bowl of cereal that he was eating in his hand. "What is it Liz?"

"Did you find a letter scribbled out on some note paper on the table?"

"Yes." His voice scarcely hid his mischief.

"What did you do with it? Her knuckles were white from having gripped the bundle of mail in her hand. Had she been standing, it would be reasonable to think that she would have been in fighting stance.

"I sent it on to her, of course," his said before spooning some of the corn flakes into his mouth.

"Why would you do that Emmet?" She was gnashing her teeth.

"You have been friends with her for long enough and I hate to see you suffer. And furthermore to that I suppose that she would stop singing at me."

She stood up, dropping all of the other unopened envelopes on her rug. She was within inches of his face, and he stood still chewing on the already softened cereal. "Why would you send that?" She was yelling, something she rarely did. And Emmet instantly remembered his fear of his older sister from his childhood. Don't worry, she did not torment him. She only made sure that he understood that he was younger, and therefore was to respect her.

"Why did you write it?" He shrieked, nearly releasing the bowl from his hand. He caught himself and steeled himself.

She backed up a little after hearing such a strange sound from her brother. It sounded like a cat being sprinkled with water from one of those cheap spray bottles they sell in the chemist. "It was therapy. I have to vent sometimes." She turned her back on her brother but continued talking, not to anyone really, "I mean forgive me," she started to sarcasm, a skill Emmet had not known was there, but was impressive. "I've been living next to a woman like that for twenty-nine years, who calls you in the middle of the day to look at tables and calls you in the middle of the night to pretend to be a burglar to check her security system which sounds like the horn of the QEII. So, I beg your pardon if I write and impolite paper which I intended to throw out!"

"I—"

"And then the way she treats her husband is insane. I never get to see my husband and she has Richard on a lead. One of the nicest men on the planet tethered to that."

"I—"

"And now I get a letter from her and she calls me her little dog."

"I've never seen you so mad." And he hadn't. She turned back around and Emmet noticed the slightest hint of moisture on her face.

"Well, I'm sorry. I'm not quick to anger and you know that I don't frustrate easy. It's just for so many years I wrote letters like that and crumpled them up. I threw them all out and now she knows how I feel."

"You feel better now, no coffee, no candlelight suppers…"

"No Hyacinth absorption for Richard." She retorted.

"Damn, I hadn't thought of that."

* * *

Sometimes Richard escaped into what he called his "Away Place." It was usually cool and dim there. To be frank he wasn't actually moving his body, but his mind. His mind would go that that Away Place where he found his greatest satisfaction.

Silence.

That is what he coveted the most. He wouldn't kill for it but he would buy it if he could. With it came peace and with it came the thing that he loved most, his solitude. He supposed that he loved her before as most men do. Now he didn't know what it was. Marriage was a union, so they were united. He remembered reading in the dictionary that happiness was an inherent part of the institution. He objected to that.

In 1961 it may have been that way, but not now, not in 1995.

Presently Richard is sitting in his chair in his Away Place. It was a view of a cloudless autumn sunrise, cool and dim like he liked it.

"RICHARD!" His wife's voice, then darkness and then a return to reality.

"Yes, Hyacinth." His voice sounded normal to him.

"I don't think I appreciate that tone, and you really mustn't speak that way out of doors." Those words descended from on high.

"Yes, dearest wife."

"That's better. Now I am expecting a call from the Mayor's office. What shall I wear?" Richard could have died right then and been more content, "My purple hat with the yellow daffodils of my yellow hat with the violet violets?"

"If it's a telephone call, does it matter what you're wearing? And secondly why would we be getting a call from the Mayor's office?"

"Of course it matters what I'm wearing, it is the Mayor we're talking about. Or it is the Mayor about whom we are talking. I couldn't answer in just any old thing."

"Quite right, you could answer naked and the Mayor wouldn't care." Richard stifled a laugh.

"I will not have that Council Housing humor in this house and besides I don't allow anyone to see me naked it's not befitting of a lady."

"It's true I don't remember the last time I saw you nake—"

"I am your wife!" She was scandalized, "You shouldn't be thinking of your wife or any other woman in such an impure way. I certainly hope you won't be so libidinous, so lascivious, so lewd, so licentious, so lubricious around me or any other woman when His Worship comes to our Christian sing-song candlelight supper tomorrow night!"

His head was spinning from all of the L's he just heard. Something further clicked in his head, "Christian Sing-song candlelight supper?"

"You know Richard I get the feeling that you don't listen to me. It's as if I'm speaking to brick. Yes a sing-song. I have invited His Worship, we shall sing together."

"Oh, Lord." He sighed.

"Is that a song we should sing?! You know that I found some good ones in an American hymn book I borrowed from the library." She inhaled deeply and he prepared his ears for the cacophony of calamitous crescendos. "BLESSED ASSURANCE JESUS IS MINE, OH WHAT A FORETASTE OF GLORY DIVINE!"

There was a dog howling in the street, Richard could hear it. Hyacinth heard it too and said, "Must be a full moon tonight."

"That's nice but aren't you going to have a pianist to drown you ou— I mean to compliment you," Richard pondered.

"I would, but Emmet's not going to be available so that's why I got you this," She reached down at the table and under the American hymn book another book from the library?"

"How to Play Piano in Two Weeks," Richard read aloud from the cover, "but Hyacinth the occasion is in twenty-eight hours!"

"Well then, you had better start practicing." She answered coldly.

"Are you quite sure Emmet's not available?!" Indignant.

"Yes, quite sure," she said, "After all I don't control's schedules." She put the book back on to the table and walked out.

He went to the table and grumbled, "I don't even know how to read sheet music."

He picked up the hymnal and what looked like a bookmark fell out of it. Upon further inspection, he realized that it was a sheet of line paper folded in thirds as if it were in an envelope. He opened it and saw Elizabeth's neat and distinctive penmanship. He heard Hyacinth's footsteps approaching and fulfilled the sudden urge to hide the paper under his shirt. She burst into the room only to find him reading the book on playing piano.

"Tell me Richard, and I shall know if you're lying have you seen a piece of paper, a folded letter?"

"No, I haven't." It was easy to lie to her, because she never listened.

"Oh, alright." She left in a huff.

He took it out of his shirt…

Dear Hyacinth…

* * *

Liz had calmed down knowing that there was nothing that she could do.

The doorbell rang and she answered it. She was surprised to see that it was Richard.

"Can I come in Liz?"

"I'm surprised to see you after…" She trailed off.

"I have it right here, let me in." She relented and obeyed and let him in.

They went to her living room and he at in a chair and she sat on the settee. Emmet was, of course, at the piano bench, but he turned around and greeted Richard.

"What brings you here old boy?" Emmet asked. Richard was terse and spoke in a hushed voice.

"Listen we have to be quick I told her that I was having a look at the car. I have the letter," and he produced it, "I've read it and you're my favorite writer."

She blushed in embarrassment.

He continued, "Take this letter back." He put it on her coffee table, "I have a plan." I am going to convince her that she never received a letter and that it is her conscious that made her think she got it. I want her to fix herself you know. I can't see the reply now I must get back, don't destroy this letter or the reply I need them for reference. Good night." And it seems that he disappeared just as quickly as he came.

"What do you think of that?" She asked.

"I don't know. I'm not even sure I understand." Emmet said, "Richard knows what he's ding and I have faith in that."

* * *

Author's Note: I know that it is a bit jumbled now, but Richard knows what he's doing.

Please review.


	4. Orange Juice and Aspirin

"Aren't you going to invite Elizabeth to coffee?" Richard started mischievously, putting his plan into action. It was breakfast and he supposed that he might as well kick off with the scheme over the most important meal of the day.

"What, Richard?" She sounded harsher than usual, if that was possible. Judging by the bags under her eyes, she had not slept last night. Or, if she had, it was a fitful night if sleep.

He reiterated, "Aren't you going to invite Liz for coffee?" He slurped up spooned some of his corn flakes.

The gears were turning in her head. You see, she had not told Richard about Elizabeth's letter, or the subsequent reply. More importantly she wasn't privy to his viewing Liz's letter or his hatching a scheme. Hyacinth knew that she would have to lie through her teeth.

"You know I think that she's gone off coffee," Hyacinth said. The words tasted bad to her.

"Gone off coffee?" He stifled a laugh.

"Yes, I don't even think that she drinks decaffeinated anymore." Hyacinth was sticking with it.

"Well then why not invite her to tea?"

"It's not a fitting time for tea, Richard, and you know that."

He dug in, "I suppose that being English means that it is _always_ tea time. You know Earl Grey."

"That would be an American stereotype of their mother country. Americanisms have no place in this house."

Richard continued this game of chess, "Children tend to know their mothers, and based on our current relationship with them were more like friends."

"I suppose." She conceded. Her tired brain was in overdrive trying to figure out why he was acting this way, and why for some strange reason she wasn't putting an end to it.

"Then invite Liz over for some orange juice." It sounded stupid to him too, but he was going to stick with it.

"Orange juice?"

"If she won't have coffee, and you won't serve tea, have her over for some orange juice."

She did something that she had never done before, she obeyed. "Fine," she huffed.

She left the kitchen and walked to her white slim line telephone. Richard shut the kitchen door behind her and pressed his ear against it so he could hear. He listened only for the important bits.

"Good Morning Elizabeth… well… orange juice… coffee… is passé…five minutes."

Richard returned to his seat and feigned interest in his now too soggy cereal. She made a grand entrance and declared, "She'll be here in five minutes. They'll be here in five minutes. Emmet's decided to come along."

"Good."

"You know, since this was your idea, you can let her in when she arrives." She retreated a bit from the threshold of the door and said, "I am going to freshen up for my guests, so when they arrive forgive me if I'm not back.

"Oh, alright." Richard was surprised, but not displeased.

"In fact, I told her that it was your idea, so if I don't appear at all tell her that I'm busy."

"Oh." He feigned dejection, though inside he was quite happy.

She left as dramatically as she entered. He sat, looking even more sinisterly into the bowl of warming milk and disintegrating corn flakes, watching one of them continue to meander and swirl as it melted. He must have done this for the three hundred seconds that it took Emmet and Liz to arrive. He being the only one who wanted or cared for their company, walked swiftly to the door to let them in. They entered in, removed their shoes and followed Richard into the kitchen in stern procession. He shut the door behind them and tarried near it for a few second to make sure that Hyacinth wasn't approaching. His neighbors looked at him, stared at him, puzzled and intrigued with his secrecy. He pressed his ear, again, to the door.

He heard nothing.

He went to the refrigerator, opened it, grabbed the carton, and closed it again. He grabbed three glasses and filled them all about four-fifths to the top. All was in done in the most perfect silence. He grabbed two glasses in one hand and the third in the other and tiptoed to the table.

He retook his seat and spoke in a hushed voice, "I thought it through last night and I know what I'm going to do," he said handing two of the glasses to brother and sister.

"Richard, please tell me what's happening. Whatever happened last night was confusing and I don't like to be befuddled." Emmet whispered.

"Well, everything that you wrote in that letter was true, Liz, and I want Hyacinth to see that." Richard said.

"What?" Liz did not understand.

"What I mean is… I want to trick her into thinking that the letter never existed and that she never replied." Richard stated plainly.

"How do you intend to do that?" Elizabeth asked.

"I want her to think that it was all in her conscience. I want her to think that it was all a dream."

"A dream, Richard I've read about schemes like this, changing perception and it is dangerous stuff."

"My wife," Richard started, still whispering "She is like a orange, and my objective is to get to the fruit inside. When I met her she was peeled and it was wonderful, but over the years and decades the peel built up. I'm fed up, alright. I am fed up. I figure that there are three ways to get back to the beautiful, ripe thing inside. I could rub the peel and wear it away, but by the time I got to the fruit it would have rotted and putrefied. I could rip ferociously at the peel, but I would only damage the fruit and be sprayed in the eye. Or I can be gentle in the peeling and get to the fruit with no damage to myself or my wife."

"That is a clever analogy, but I must say that I have reservations about this whole thing. I'll go along with it, for now." Elizabeth said.

"Richard, old boy, I will help you any way I can."

And the each drank some orange juice to that.

The topic changed.

"How's Gail?" Richard asked.

"Oh, she's fine. She and Harold are really getting on and fingers crossed, he may be the one." Liz said.

"Ooh, wedding bells." Richard said.

"And to think she wanted to keep it a secret at first." Elizabeth chuckled a bit and took another sip of orange juice. She looked down at her hand and realized that she was _not_ shaking.

"We all have secrets or more correctly our children keep secrets from us. Sometimes late at night I wonder. I say, 'What's Sheridan's secret?' Nothing too unsavory I hope." Richard knew that his son was different from most kids, or at least that he was hiding something. He could never put his finger on it.

"It's nothing Richard, my father felt the same way about—" Emmet was cut off by a very special lady who entered the room.

"Hello, Emmet." Hyacinth said before glaring at her other neighbor.

Richard mouthed the words 'be normal' and Elizabeth nodded.

"Hello, Hyacinth, long time, no see." Liz's voice came across as normal and flat.

That threw Hyacinth off of her game. "Oh, hello Elizabeth."

"How have things been with you?" Elizabeth asked.

"Well not so good… you sent me a let—" Hyacinth stopped when she realized that she couldn't find said letter, and therefore could not prove anything. She used some classic Hyacinth technique and changed subject, "So the daffodils are about done."

"I would say so, in a couple of weeks they would have wilted away." Liz said, feeling in charge of a conversation for once.

"I think they look the best with purple hyacinths nearby." Richard said.

"Me too." Liz was still marveling at the fact that she was actually getting a word in.

"Yes," Richard continued with a glimmer of mischief in his eyes, "Yellow is so joyful a color and it is so well complemented with imperious purple. To think the hyacinths are so imperious and command no empire." Richard chuckled alone. He had just invoked, verbatim mind you, the first fault that Liz found with his dearest wife.

Emmet only looked at Richard, and Liz at Hyacinth.

Hyacinth shuddered oh so slightly when he made his 'imperious comment.' She knew that she read it in the letter, or did she? 'Déjà vu' was all she could muster betwixt her ears.

"You know," Emmet started, "I think violets would look better."

Richard pounced on that, "I was never interested in those I guess, most people I speak to don't care about violets." (Grievance XXIII)

Hyacinth put her right hand up to the corresponding temple and rubbed. She got a headache wondering what the hell was going on. She swore that she had read those words. She swore that the postman handed her a letter from Elizabeth and those words were there. There was just no proof of it now. The envelope she remembered holding was gone and the invective she remembered reading was nowhere to be found. When she asked Richard last night if he saw it, he said he hadn't seen anything. It was too weird.

"Excuse me," Hyacinth started, "I need to go have a lie down, my head is pounding."

"Do you need an aspirin?" Richard asked.

"You know I don't like pain killers. I'll just have a quick nap." And she left, shutting the door behind her.

Emmet was frowning slightly, "While I must say that I want her to change, I don't know if I like how this is going."

Richard spoke, "She is the master of overstatement. The plain speech of your letter Liz," and he looked at her, "was simply to overstated. Subversion is the only weapon against bombast."

Liz nodded in agreement.

Emmet nodded no, but said no more. He didn't understand how Richard went from the analogy of wanting to peel the orange delicately to using a 'weapon' in the span of ten minutes or so.


	5. Two Tonics

Emmet shot straight up. His body was like an 'L'. His legs were under his covers and his torso was perpendicular to the mattress. There was sweat dripping down his brow and his arms. He never screamed when he had a nightmare. And he hadn't had a nightmare. In fact he hadn't been dreaming at all.

It was just that something from yesterday's, he looked down at his alarm clock and saw that it was 2:23 AM, yes, yesterday's orange juice gathering had hit him like a ton of bricks.

He went over Richard's words in his head, 'I could rub the peel and wear it away, but by the time I got to the fruit it would have rotted and putrefied. I could rip ferociously at the peel, but I would only damage the fruit and be sprayed in the eye. Or I can be gentle in the peeling and get to the fruit with no damage to myself or my wife.'

Emmet started muttering to himself, "An orange, he talks about oranges. He wants to peel an orange. And we toasted to it over orange juice. And then the subversion thing it doesn't make sense."

He was resisting the urge, but all of that literature analysis he did in college was worming its way into his head again. He, Richard calls his wife an orange and they all agree to peel her over a glass of orange juice, a product which results from pulverizing oranges. And the orange juice was so pulpy too.

BREAK

Emmet rang his neighbors at 9:15.

"The Boo-kay Residence, the lady of the house speaking." Her voice was normal, and he was glad of that.

"Oh, hello Hyacinth." He struggled to inject 'joy' into his voice.

"Oh, Emmet, I am glad you called. Richard, of late, has been quite insufferable." She, the woman who probably placed a hat on her head to answer the telephone said, with a tone and sigh that came off to Emmet as genuine. "Will you come over for coffee."

"You beat me to it, Hyacinth, dammit," he feigned disappointment.

"What's that dear?"

"I wanted to invite Richard and yourself over for lunch and drinks this afternoon. I even have some sheet music ready for a… shall I say, concert of your talents."

"Ooh, I shall be there, I'll go and tell Richard now. He'll be so thrilled. You do know how he loves my voice."

"We all you're your voice, Mrs. Bouquet. In fact we all love _you,_ Mrs. Bouquet."

"So, I shall be there." She sounded like a schoolgirl excited for a field trip.

"Swing by at 12:30 for some steak, salad, sherry, and song."

"I'll bring a cake for something sweet to supplement your steak, sherry and song."

Emmet mouthed the words, 'kill me' before he spoke at full volume into the phone, "Alright see you soon."

He placed the phone back onto its receiver.

Presently, Elizabeth walked into the room coffee and newspaper, in hand. Her pen for the crossword puzzle was in its usual place on the table beside her favorite chair. She approached her chair, sat, put her spectacles on and opened to page 44. She grabbed her black ink pen and started as she always did 1:ACROSS, The clue: Four letters, opposite of good, 2:ACROSS Three letters: Present tense of ate, 4: ACROSS Seven Letters: Sweet citrus. As she thought of the answers, she, without looking up, spoke.

"Who was that on the telephone?" Her voice sounded a casual interest.

"Hyacinth," Her brother said flatly.

"You have been summoned to coffee, haven't you?" There was a snicker in her little question. She wrote in a couple of the answers.

"On the contrary sweet sister of mine, she has been so seriously summoned for steak, sherry and song."

"What?"

"Who's smiling now?" Emmet asked.

"Wait, wait, wait," Liz stammered as she shifted her paper away form her, "Song? You don't mean?" She was gasping a bit.

"Yes, I do mean."

"She'll sing at you!" Elizabeth pointed out in a complete reversal of concern. She wrote in the third answer.

"Yes she will." He said, resolute.

"Well you have fun cooking that," she jeered (in a loving way, of course) to her brother, "I have to pick something to wear."

She rested the paper on the table with her pen and reading spectacles. Emmet rose from his seat intent on marinating the steak he had in the fridge. He stopped by Liz's chair and glanced at the newspaper. He took notice of the three words Liz had filled in before departing.

EVIL

EATS

ORANGES

BREAK

Hyacinth crossed the threshold into Elizabeth's home, a perfect picture of spring. Her dress was green like emeralds and had a floral print of white daisies and vibrant golden daffodils. She wore a grand white hat that complemented her hair.

Richard wore a black suit, white shirt, red tie, and his usual black shoes.

Emmet had anticipated the formality and dressed accordingly in a white shirt and gray slacks.

Liz was putting on her tan two-piece.

"What is that delicious smell?" Hyacinth asked taking a seat.

"I figured," Emmet started preening like a peacock, "that when you have such a high caliber of person to your home, you ought to put some effort into cooking. You know, hâute cuisine, so I thought that I might as well coat the steak in pâté and wrap it in puff pastry and stick it in the oven."

"Ooh, Beef Wellington _is_ my favorite. You do awesome things for little old me." She said, thoroughly exercising her restraint by not jumping up and down.

"Anything for our lovely songstress." Emmet's voice could scarcely be called genuine, though sweet enough to fool Hyacinth.

"This is really too much Emmet," She said, sounding grateful.

"Yes, Emmet. It really is." Richard added.

"Well, I said to myself that since you're kind enough to have all of those 'delightful' candlelight suppers I need to, at least in small part, return the favor. And besides, you're not eating for free by any means. You're voice is your payment." Emmet managed to say with forced sincerity.

"Then I shall pay in full." She declared, sitting down.

"What about a gratuity?" He asked more to himself sardonically.

She heard him, but not his tone, and said, "That depends on the beef. Where is the beef?"

PING. The timer had gone off.

Emmet left wordlessly to remove the food from the oven.

Richard took a seat next to his wife on the big comfy couch. Liz entered to see them seated. She played perfect hostess. "Hello Hyacinth, Richard. Will you have some drinks?"

"I really shouldn't." Richard said.

"You don't have to drive home," Liz jested.

"You're right," he said, "I'll have a gin and tonic, if it's not too much trouble."

"That's what I was going to have myself. How about you Hyacinth?"

"Sherry is fine."

"Alright, one sherry and two tonics.*" She chuckled a little but she didn't know exactly why. Richard laughed too.

"What's so funny about that? Two tonics with some gin. I hope it's not some of that council-housing humor." Hyacinth nearly shouted, indignant.

Liz left to make the drinks.

Emmet reappeared, "While that cools down for a bit, could we get a song?" He made his move towards the piano

"Of course," she followed him.

He sat and handed her a copy of some sheet music, "This is some music that I composed for my amateur operatic group and you'll be the first to sing it. The theme is existentialism"

"Ooh"

He started to play. It was slow and sounded depressing.

She read along and started to sing when it was time in a way that made the windows vibrate,

" _Strange things said_

 _Bad things done_

 _A life wasted, dead_

 _Words misplaced_

 _A sheet of paper with bad words disgrace_

 _Invective_

 _Suggestive_

 _Words meant not said_

 _Written down on a dead tree_

 _Those word were never meant to_

 _Be_

 _Seen."_

He stopped playing and spoke, "That's how it starts."

Hyacinth, "That was so sad. A letter never meant to be sent, a letter of invective. I wonder who was being inveighed against. Who's the inveigher?"

Richard's chin could have dropped to the floor.

Elizabeth who had entered the room mid-song with the drinks remained bent over her table. She was frozen. Liz was mouthing the words to God, "Please don't let her put that together."

"You know." Hyacinth's aloof voice broke the tension, "I think I'll go and freshen up." She walked out of the room and made her way to Liz's bathroom."

The three people remainder in the room all glanced nervously at each other.

"What the hell was that Emmet?" Elizabeth asked in a hushed voice, "What are you playing at?"

"Yes, please explain." Richard whispered.

"This whole thing is wrong." Emmet started. "It's not right. Manipulating her mind in this way is sick. You wrote that letter," he looked at his sister, "It disappeared, and yet you want to change her. She may be terrible, but this is worse."

"Aah," Elizabeth used some sarcasm that not even she knew was inside of her, "Now it's wrong." Her voice grew harsh, but still hushed, "Yesterday, you were sitting at that table laughing and joking and now it's wrong. You are a contrarian."

"Well if that's what I am, that's what I am."

Richard chimed in, "You're sabotaging my whole operation."

"Right there," Emmet emphasized in a quiet voice, "Right there. This is not a war. There are no operations here. This is a marriage, not a battlefield."

"I am merely a doctor operating on my life. That's all." Richard said.

Hyacinth walked back in, "I believe that I am ready for the next song maestro, unless that Beef has cooled off."

END PART ONE

* * *

*Two tonics= Teutonic, a fancy word for German.


	6. Aptitudes

BEGIN PART TWO

* * *

"You know, Emmet," Hyacinth started before taking a sip of wine, "I really did enjoy this meal."

"Thank you, Hyacinth. I worked really hard on it." Emmet replied.

"Yes, I suppose you worked harder on this meal than you did on that song." She spoke those words clearly, though it felt as if the words should have been whispered. It wasn't as if Hyacinth understood social rules.

"I beg your pardon," Emmet said, growing miffed.

"I guess… Your song didn't have anything impactful." She spoke airily,

"I—"

"You really mustn't fret. I will help you to write something palatable, enjoyable."

"Hyacinth, what exactly was wrong with—"

"I, dearest Emmet, I am a songstress, as you said yourself. For me, the words need to form a complete thought that makes sense not only to me, but to everybody who will be enchanted."

"I—" She interrupted him.

"You may say that my voice may be enchantment enough, and I do admit that it may be one of the most powerful tools on this side of the Channel, but your words must lull the audience into my voice. Just think, if you wrote something more, shall I say, pleasant, then you may find it easier for all to digest."

"That was my point, Hyacinth," he said grinding his teeth, "It's not supposed to be pleasant, it's supposed to be somber and morose. It's a sad theme we're covering."

"I understand that, but my misgivings about the quality of this piece remain."

"Quality!?" He half asked and half screamed. Emmet rose from his seat. He was ready to garrote her with one of the wires from the piano. Oh, I almost forgot, Liz and Richard were sitting at the table. The only parts of them that were in motion were their eyes. Those two pairs of eyes drifted back and forth between the arguing parties the way spectators watched the ball at a tennis match.

She, of course did not hear or did not heed his tone or the fact that he was standing menacingly, "Yes, Emmet. You are _much_ smarter than what you wrote."

"Madam," he said stiffly, "I worked for hours and hours on that. You only sung a piece of it."

" _Oh,_ " she scoffed, "I did hope that I would not have to sing any more of that."

"Fear not, I will not implore you any further."

"Good, I don't think Richard would like that. He is a man of scruples." She spoke from her high horse.

"I am sure he is," Emmet made his way to the refrigerator, "In fact, I think of him when I am trying to think my way out of sticky situations. I think of him when I need to make big decisions."

"He is good, isn't he?" Hyacinth asked rhetorically, "He's very forceful and executive."

"Yes, indeed," Emmet agreed mindlessly while reaching into the fridge."

"I tremble to think about how many women covet my Richard."

"I wouldn't know anything about that," Emmet said as he produced a carton from the fridge.

"I am sure you would. You run an amateur operatic society. I'm quite sure that there are some women and _men_ who would want Richard."

"What are you trying to say?"

"Well I'm sure you must have some homosexuals in that society. In fact, most of the men must be homosexual." She was prattling.

"No, no, no."

"Oh, yes, yes, yes, the gentlemen must have such fun. I suppose many of them must have divorced their wives to have fun with each other."

Quoth Emmet, "Where is all of this coming from?" He was exasperated as he swallowed the whole glass of orange juice he had set before himself.

"It's nothing, nothing. That's just what I see," she said, "And don't worry I know you're not a homosexual. You're too in love with me."

Richard rolled his eyes. Elizabeth bit her tongue to keep from laughing.

"I-"

"I see the glances, you avert your eyes when I notice, you try to keep it subtle. I do think that with most your subtlety would be enough trick most, but I have aptitudes. I have an aptitude for reading people and their emotion. I have an aptitude for civility, and I have an aptitude of expression."

"I am quite sure you are skilled in several areas, but I must ask you to respect the members of my group. Miranda, Jane, Diana, Morris, Edward, Rupert, Derek, and all the others didn't deserve that abuse. My dear lady, I think sometimes you underestimate your most profound effect on people."

"That wasn't abuse Emmet, it was truth. I'm sure Edward, Rupert, Morris, and Derek aren't married."

"They most certainly are, in fact yesterday was Morris' nineteenth anniversary." Emmet spoke truthfully, even though he knew how stupid this was getting.

She pivoted in the most painful way possible, "I suppose you wish that your marriage was still that strong."

Elizabeth interjected, finding strength to defend her little brother "Hyacinth, I think that's inappropriate."

"No, it is not. Think about it this way. You have divorced your wife. You have—"

"WHAT THE HELL IS WRONG WITH YOU?" Emmet screamed, a thing he almost never did. "You are a sick, sick woman. You are delusional. You have delusions of grandeur. You walk around as if you have millions upon millions of pounds, but we all know that you subsist on Richard's pension. WE ALL know that that your so-called Royal Doulton is fake! We all know that the airs you put on are so obnoxious that all sorts of people run away from you. Let me tell you something, Hyacinth. I don't know if you ever heard this but you are a stuck-up, pompous ass who no one wants to be around."

"AND THAT, EMMET, IS THE PASSION YOU NEED TO PUT INTO YOUR MUSIC," she huffed, moaning the words haphazardly, or as she would call it, "singing".

"What the f—"

"Emmet, I know that you are a powerful composer. You play beautifully," she stood up, reaching for his piano fingers, she grabbed them, and they were trembling, "See that quiver? That is the passion I want to see. That is the emotion, I want to hear." She removed her soft hand from his and reclaimed her seat with a smug grin on her face.

"Hyacinth you are the most antagonizing woman on Earth," his anger grew anew upon the smile on her face, "Do you realize that people fear you and hate you?"

"You could write that into your opera or whatever it is you're working on." She looked through him as if he were composed only of glass.

"Hyacinth, listen." He implored, the stress obvious on his face and in his already shaky voice.

"Yes, I am attentive."

"What is your name?"

"Hyacinth Bouquet." She answered airily.

"No, it is not, madam. B-U-C-K-E-T spells 'bucket' not bouquet. 'Bouquet' is spelled B-O-U-Q-U-E-T."

"But the name is of French origin. Bless you, you must have forgotten." She laughed.

"It is not. Richard is as English as English gets."

"Emmet, I really don't know what is wrong with you. You cook a good meal, then you get your vigour back and now you are focused on my surname. You are the most interesting man in the world." She sounded genuinely confused and impressed.

"You are generally dense," he said aloud looking into her eyes.

She shuddered only slightly, before her eyes started to glisten in hope and excitement.

"You know what, Emmet, I thank you. Woman these days are way to shallow, thin and bland. Calling me dense is probably the best compliment these days. You cannot see through me or take a glance and figure me out. All have lost in their attempts to change me."

Elizabeth's face would have gone into the dictionary under the definition of the word 'stupefied'.

Emmet looked swiftly at Richard. Richard looked as if he had been shot. He was shot in a way. It seemed that Hyacinth had just performed her _first_ countermove against all of his efforts. Richard also realized that his eyes were growing weary of darting back and forth. Emmet wasn't sure how to feel as became acutely aware of a terrible orangey aftertaste in his mouth.

"I mean density, is unchangeable. A gallon of water will always weigh the same."

"Density does change with heat," Emmet remembered from chemistry,

"Ah, so it does, if you boil water the stem goes everywhere sucking all of the cool dry comfortable air in a room. Freeze water and it grows denser. Matter cannot be destroyed."

The room grew silent. There was no response to that. None.

Hyacinth sucked all of the oxygen out of the room, like a fire. The silence that followed a Hyacinth conversation was never so terrible and palpable as it was now. The cold leftovers of Beef Wellington remained on the table. The half finished drinks remained still as pools untouched by humans at any point. The sound of the birds chirping rang loud and reverberated throughout the house. Elizabeth sat stark mute and Richard only blinked as if he was trying to figure out exactly what happened. Emmet was still seething deep into the recesses of his mind. His anger no longer gave any hint of its oh so real existence through his face or any other part of his body. It was internalized no, and that when it was most dangerous.

"Hyacinth," Richard's voice started, "I have something to tell you…

* * *

END CHAPTER

* * *

The story is going to end in soon. Thanks to all the loyal readers and reviewers and continue to do so. If I confused anyone/everyone again, it will all make sense when I am done. PM me if you have any questions and I will respond within 24 hours. 'Til next time…

-Where'n'why


	7. Resolution

"Hyacinth," Richard's voice started, "I have something to tell you…"

"What's that dear?" She asked looking at him and then at Emmet and then Liz and back at him. He wiped his brow because he noticed the sweat that was accumulating.

"Hyacinth, I-"

"That's nice dear. Anyway _I_ was saying that it is most important that people are consistent these seems to me that people are suffering from the Conditional Common Continental Class Commiseration Complex. That is to say that the leftist ideals that used to permeate and degrade the eastern part of the continent have spread to the West. I, for one, am not going to stand for it. There is the ideal that we have to squash."

 _WE_ need to fight against the conformity disorder."

"I-" tried Richard to speak.

"You must stop interrupting," she chided, "That is a very French habit. Anyway, it seems that people are so hell-bent on being liked that they feign aspects of their personal fortitude. They play nice. I shall never play nice. And you shouldn't either."

"I have something to say, and them I'm not going to say anything else." Liz started

"What is it Elizabeth?" asked Hyacinth.

"I-"

"You wrote a letter."

"I-"

"You wrote letter and for once you became an Englishwoman. You cast of that phony politeness that I hear French and German woman show to their families and friends. You showed that when it comes to our stiff upper lip, you may have quivered, but when it came down to it, you stood tall, proud, and steadfastly English. Be proud." Hyacinth was beaming and looking quite gleefully at her neighbor.

Liz was as confused as one could be but she managed to mutter, "Hyacinth did you read the letter? I mean, in its entirety."

"Well, after I read the first part, you know, the preamble of sorts, and I found it so well written that I was going to save it and read it over the next few weeks. Unfortunately, I lost it. I knew where I put it, but it disappeared. Where it vanished to, or more grammatically, whither it vanished, only the Almighty knows. Besides, I knew that the first part was the only serious part of the letter and that the rest was jest. You said that you had lost your voice and you found it again. In finding your voice you realized that you were probably quite funny."

"But, Hyacinth," Elizabeth started, "Your reply was written in the same tone."

"That would be a coincidence, dear. It was just a bit of Northern humor for the West Midlands."

"I can't win," Emmet muttered.

Hyacinth heard him, "Win what, Emmet?"

"You must be a genius, Hyacinth. It seems that you can take anything that is said and interpret it in a way that suits you. I could read the shipping forecast, 'Showers approaching Dover from the west,' and it seems that you can somehow, someway make that about you. I mean dear woman, someone calls you dense, and you can twist that. If I told you that you were the worst person to walk on Earth you would find some trickety-trick to explain yourself. You are probably- no, you are the most complex and frightening case of psychotic narcissism that I have ever had the displeasure of meeting."

"How very kind you are dear," started Hyacinth, "To think you could think of that many superlatives for little old me. You've just called me a genius, consistent, complex, psychologically gifted, and self-aware."

Screaming Emmet, "I just said that you are the worst human being ever!"

"Oh, I am. Am I? I know that 'bad' is in the vernacular and it means good. So, if I'm the worst, it only stands to reason that I'm the best. Again, I am most flattered."

Richard tried again to speak, "Hyacinth, you really must list-"

"No sir, I must not. It seems to me that you have not yet started to be direct as an Englishman. Elizabeth has, Emmet has, but you have not. It seems to me that you are knee-deep in cowardice, and for someone who looks so much like Sir Francis Drake, it makes me quite angry."

"Hyacinth," he took an awesomely deep breath, and stood up above them all. He looked at her, then at Emmet, then at Liz, then at the cold Beef Wellington on the table, and then back on Hyacinth. "I AM DONE WITH YOU!"

"There it is Richard," Hyacinth said in a sultry voice that almost literally scared Elizabeth to death, "Let me have it."

"YEAR AFTER YEAR I HAVE DEALT WITH YOUR HI-JINKS, YOUR SOCIAL CLIMBING, YOUR SINGING, AND ALL THE OTHER SHIT YOU MADE ME PUT UP WITH! YOU HAVE BEEN IMPOSSIBLE FOR ME TO HAVE ANYTHING THAT RESEMBLES PEACE SINCE THE DAY WE GOT MARRIED," Richard started removing his tie, because he was, in a real sense getting hot under the collar. He scrunched it up and removed it from his neck. Emmet was afraid that Richard was going to strangle her with the tie. It was a silk tie and knowing Hyacinth she would have been happy enough to be killed with something expensive.

Elizabeth wished she could drop dead for about ten minutes so that she would not have to see this. She breathed the hearty sigh of relief when Richard threw the tie clear across the room, where it made a surprising string thud on the wall. She spoke with a small, "Richard please calm down. It's like we're on an episode of Jerry Springer."

Richard did not comply, and continued his tirade, "SUCH IS MY LIFE. I GET FRUSTRATED AND IN RETURN YOU SIT THERE SMILING. SMILING LIKE THIS IS SOME SORT OF GAME TO YOU. I HAVE WASTED MY LIFE ON YOU."

Reply Hyacinth, "You have wasted your life with me, in that you were never assertive enough."

"WHAT THE F-"

She rose and stood behind him, "Listen to me dear, " she started in a beautifully sweet voice, "I know that I am a handfull. I knew it ever since I was a little girl. And when I was a little girl I didn't know the words for it but I knew I needed a commander. When I got a little older I knew he would have to command me ferociously in the household and in the bedroom."

Elizabeth and Emmet did a 'mini-wretch'. and both feared that what they had just eaten would make a violent reappearance.

Hyacinth ignored the gagging and continued, "When I go older still, I figured out that I wanted someone who was forceful and executive. And one day I was sitting in a restaurant in Waterloo Street and I saw a man and he was looking at me. He walked over to me and he said, 'I don't know who you are but I want to.' I gave him my number and waited for him to call. He did call the next week and he said that he was expecting me to be at the restaurant. I listened to him and he met me there. He commanded and I listened. and I married him. I never feel freer than when I am under your control. You remember when you were like that. I want that back."

"That's how my father was," RIchard started, "I promised myself that I wouldn't be like him. He was abusive."

"And you would never be," Hyacinth said, "You would never be."

END PART ONE

* * *

If anyone is confused, I will make it make sense in the next and final chapter. PM me if you have any questions and review if you have any comments.

-Where'n'why


	8. Finale

So this is it everyone. I would have published this sooner, but was having some serious Cascading Issues with the Story Statistics. For the month of December between the 1st and the 18th the site is reporting that I had no views or reviews. If you reviewed in that time period, I did not remove it/them. The site was having a glitch. If you sent a PM, I simply never saw it. Anyways, I hope you enjoy the final installment. Review or PM if you have any questions or comments. It's working now!

* * *

"...You would never would be. I'm not asking you to be abusive." She rose from her seat in Liz's kitchen, as she continued to speak, "I am asking you to take charge of me. You _own,_ " she swept her arms around her body, like a model on a game show, as if to boast, "all of this. Act like it."

"Hyacinth," Elizabeth interjected, "I really don't think that this is a good way to live as a married couple."

"Well, Elizabeth, you haven't seen your husband in months. So I don't suppose you can tell me much."

Richard was incensed. "Hyacinth, sit down this instant." He was forceful. Firm but not loud.

She complied. Now, when I say 'complied', I mean she ran to her seat to follow the order. There was a little smile on her face. It was one of those mischievous smiles that a schoolgirl get when she hears a secret.

"Apologize," he commanded.

With another smile and a twinkle in her eye Hyacinth said, "I am sorry for the rude thing I just said."

"And..." Richard said as if leading a small child.

She finished her next sentence, " And I won't do it again."

Elizabeth was astounded. "I accept your apology."

Richard smiled in realization, "Now, Hyacinth, we are going to establish some rules."

"Yes, sir." She replied. Richard smiled at the title

Emmet and Elizabeth were dumbfounded to say the least. Never had they ever seen something so strange. A seated Hyacinth staring intently at a firm Richard, who was standing and ready to lay down the law.

"There must be some rules to make sure that we can proceed happier and safer. Rule Number One: We are going to have equal respect."

"Yes, sir."

Number two, you are only going to hold candlelight suppers when appropriate."

She chimed in, "And only with your permission."

"Number three, you will not interrupt me when I speak. In fact, you will only speak when spoken to or when there is room for you to speak."

"Understood." Hyacinth said.

Emmet and Elizabeth were stunned. On the one hand, Hyacinth knew that she was overbearing and reveled in it. On the other, it seemed that Hyacinth was like a child, She needed someone to set boundaries for her. She wanted a father figure more than a husband. Elizabeth cringed at the realization that Richard was avuncular, but avuncular towards Gail did not equal fatherly towards his wife.

"The uxorious days are over," Richard proclaimed, "I have won."

"Richard, we wanted the same thing." Hyacinth smiled.

"I suppose we always did, but why did you act that way Hyacinth?" Richard asked.

"For the same reason Elizabeth wrote that letter," Hyacinth said as if that made any sense.

"I beg your pardon," Elizabeth asked, not out of offense, but out of pure perturbation.

"You were sick and tired of the system, Elizabeth. Well, so was I. I took the liberty of playing a game. I didn't intend for it to last this long. I wanted to see how long it would take Richard to snap. Well, when I say snap, I mean snap in a good way, snap at me. I wanted you," she was talking to Richard, "to set me straight. I wanted you to come back to the full vigor that used to ooze out of your pores and come flooding like a torrid torrent out of other places. The game seemed to last too long and I was about to try another approach, but soon I forgot about it. I mean that I actually forgot the original reason I started to play the game. Soon I realized that all the things I had invented to get under your skin, interrupt you, sing with my terrible voice, host candlelight suppers, and the like, those things became habit."

"What?" Emmet asked, his head tilted to the side as a result of the throbbing headache that was killing him now.

"I slipped into those delusions of grandeur in earnest. I don't even know exactly how it happened. It just did. Then, Elizabeth, you sent me that letter and reminded me that this was just supposed to be a game. Your letter reminded me that on March 31st, 1975 Richard lost his nerve. Yes, exactly twenty years to the day that you signed that letter. Richard and I got into an argument. Up until March 31st, 1975, Richard always fought to the bitter end, notwithstanding his rightness, or wrongness, or indifference. That night, I remember it was a Monday, we got into a fight about whether or not we should have a baby. You said that we shouldn't, and I said that we should."

Richard sighed.

Hyacinth continued, "I remember we were in bed and instead of arguing with me, you just turned your back from me, shut off your lamp and went to sleep. You ignored me. I knew that we fussed, fought and had our little squabbles, but never ever had you ignored me."

"Hyacinth that was my first day of work for the Council and what's more that was Easter Monday and I had to go to work to set up for my job proper that started the next day. I was exhausted. I didn't feel like arguing."

Emmet put it together, "SO you mean to tell me that you have acted like this for twenty years because of _one_ argument you _didn't_ have."

"That would be a fair assessment of the facts." Richard said.

* * *

RIchard and Hyacinth went home after Emmet made plain the sad facts. Presently, he and Elizabeth were seated at the table. He told them to have the rest of the Beef Wellington. He didn't want any of that anymore. He took a sip of his coffee. Cup went back to saucer and he spoke: "I think she arrested in development somewhere around twelve years old."

"I suppose that you're right." Liz replied.

"But why is she so immature?" Emmet asked.

"That's another story," She said. [Author winks]

"Fine, but what I still don't understand is why she would send that reply, if it was all a game."

"Hyacinth," Elizabeth started, "is a delicate creature. Her mind and her cares are like her shadow in the sun. They follow her, flying, flee when she pursues. They are most certainly there in the morn and the noon and in the evening. It seems that her day was overcast for the last couple of decades. They were there with her, her mind and her care, but they was muted by the fog. When I sent that letter the temperature rose, and the fog thinned and disappeared. She knew who she was again. Her mind was free and it reverted back to what it was. It was only the collection of thoughts that until today I only thought a teenager was capable of, but that's her nature. She's a delicate flower. If the bulb is submerged it rots."

"Since when were you such a poet?" Emmet asked.

"When you live next door to something like that, you learn to find the beauty in the small things most people ignore nowadays. When pleasure is sought in solitude, it is that much sweeter. I learned to appreciate all of the small things. On the short walks to her house during the springtime, I take in the scent of the flowers, marvel at the sight of the butterfly and rejoice in the warm sun on my skin. When you're being held hostage you learn that the small things are not so small. I learned that I couldn't be afraid all of the time."

"And that's why you wrote the letter?" He asked again

"Yes, and that's why you sent it." She replied and he nodded in affirmation

END

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Merry Christmas and Happy New Year!

-Where'n'why


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